


Malmö

by wallywesticle



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Historical, Kalmar Union, Stockholm Bloodbath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-27 09:27:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8396419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wallywesticle/pseuds/wallywesticle
Summary: “I’m going to take food up to Sweden,” Finland had told them quietly by the end of their meal. Denmark looked at him with pleading eyes.
 
“Can I take it up?” The room went disgustingly silent. Finland opened his mouth several times, eyes moving from Denmark to Norway. Norway busied himself with cleaning up Iceland, refusing to meet anyone’s eye.
 
“I don’t- It’s not the right time. He- This is a- He kinda doesn’t want to see anyone.”
 
“Except you,” Denmark replied miserably. Finland pursed his mouth.





	

**Author's Note:**

> just a historical fic on the stockholm bloodbath and the treaty of malmö

His fists shook, and he tugged on his collar only to have his hand slapped away and replaced by a new set of warm ones. They smoothed out the wrinkles around his neck and rested on his shoulders. His breath came out in a shaky sigh.

“Danmark,” he turned his eyes from the door to his friend’s eyes. “You can do this. Negotiate, tell him why this is a bad idea and what we all can do to fix this. We’re all together in this, and we’re going to do what we have to to make this work, okay? You’re smart, Denmark, you can do this.” He nodded his head, removed Norway’s hands from his shoulders and squeezed them in a silent thanks. Letting go, he took the gold handle in his hand, pushed it down, and rushed through the open door, shutting it gently behind him.

“Your highness I-”

“Is that any way to greet your king?” Denmark faltered and then bowed his head.

“My apologies. Good evening, your highness.” His king smiled at him, and he lifted the corners of his mouth to return it.

“Now, what was it you were so eager to speak to me about?” Denmark wiped his sweaty palms on the fabric of his trousers, clearing his throat if only to buy him a few more seconds to gather himself. The bored look he received did nothing to relieve the wave of nausea in his stomach or the lump gathering at the base of his throat. A deep breath in-

“I’m not waiting all night.”

-and out.

“I need to talk to you about your plans for tomorrow.” Another bored look cast his way.

“There is nothing to discuss.” His jaw clenched, and he pushed away the feeling of anger before it had a chance to work its way out of his mouth.

“But there is, sir. I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but we can’t do this. The- this- It’s a massacre. You’re wanting to publicly execute so many clergymen and nobles for opening their mouths against the wrongdoings we’ve thrust upon them? You cannot tell me you truly believe we have treated them as kindly as we’ve treated ourselves.”

“It’d be best for you to bite your tongue,” the king sneered at him. Anger bubbled in his chest, and this time he didn’t have the strength to swallow.

“Well, I suppose i’m not going to do what’s best this time, sir. I cannot sit idly by while you kill innocent people. You want to keep Sweden in this union, don’t you? This is not the way to do it. They will not stay if you hurt their people like this. If you hurt his people, you hurt him. I don’t want to hurt him, I don’t want to hurt any of them.” He didn’t dare remove his eyes from King Christian’s red face. He wouldn’t falter this time, he wouldn’t give in to please his boss. He was going to make a point, he was going to keep this family together if it were the last thing he’d ever do. With the poisonous glare sent his way, it very well might be.

The king stood from his throne, taking slow steps towards him. He stayed still, eyes narrowed defiantly, body straight and rigid. King Christian stopped just short of a foot from him, teeth bared.

“You will not put your personal friendship before the good of your country, is that clear?” Denmark wondered briefly if the king was going to spit acid on him or have a guard run in an attempt to chop off his head. He didn’t move to look.

“If we kill these people, we will go to war and then the good of our country will be forgotten. Is that what you want? To have our own men killed over some sort of vendetta you have over the thought of people having a thought other than your own?” A smile made place on the king’s lips, and Denmark felt his blood run cold. He fought to keep from shivering.

“You forget there are others in this union we can place on the frontline.” He wasn’t allowed a response. The king pushed passed him, shoving his shoulder roughly as he left the room. Denmark felt frozen, mouth dry and eyes wide.

He felt Norway’s hands on his arm, pulling at him gently to move, to leave. Denmark followed him blindly, allowing himself to be led to his chambers where he was pushed into a chair. The motion made him sick. He pushed the heels of his palms into his eyes and dropped his head between his knees.

“Danma-”

“He’s doing it anyway, Nor. There was nothing I could say. Sweden’s going to hate me. He already has so many harsh feelings about this union, and now these people are going to die, and he’s going to hate me. We’ll never salvage our relationship. There will never be enough apologies made to take back a massacre.”

“We can tell him-”

“Tell him what? ‘Oh, Sve, I tried to tell my king not to be belligerent and kill your nobles, but he did it anyway. I’m so sorry!’? That won’t work, Nor, you know it. He’ll- This is going to hurt him. It’s going to physically hurt him, and I can’t do anything to stop it. He and I used to be the best of friends. All three of us were. If I lose him, i’m just going to lose you too.” He didn’t have to look up to know Norway was frowning at him. He could feel it, but he couldn’t find it in himself to apologize. He sniffed, forcing back the tears creeping to the corners of his eyes. There wasn’t a good outcome to come from this, and though he wanted to stay positive that one day this would blow over, he found himself too tired to try.

“Even if the union dissolves or I leave for personal reasons, you are not going to lose me. You are a dear friend, Mikkel, and you know that. We may disagree, we may fight opposite another, we may argue, but that will not hinder me from calling you a friend. You understand this, don’t you? And Sweden will be mad. He’ll be furious. And you’re right, he’ll not care for your apologies, but there will be a point in the future he comes to terms with what’s to come and realize you did what you could and meant every apology you spoke. I’ve not known you to give up easily, so do not start now.” Denmark lifted his head, looking at his friend with a watery smile, and for once, Norway returned it.

* * *

 

Denmark didn’t leave his room the following day. He couldn’t find the motivation to try and fight a losing battle. He laid in bed and listened to the bustling staff gossip about the killings in Stockholm. A bloodbath, one of the ladies had called it. His heart sank, and the only movement he could make was to roll onto his stomach and shove his face in his pillow, murmuring apologies into it as if it were his friend’s chest. The lack of forgiveness found in his pillow was what he expected to find from Sweden.

He was dragged from his room late in the evening by Norway whom forced him to at least come down for dinner. They ate quietly, the only chatter coming from Iceland diligently telling his brother how he’d love to go fishing again before it became too cold and the waters would freeze over. Everyone pretended not to notice the empty chair opposite Denmark.

“I’m going to take food up to Sweden,” Finland had told them quietly by the end of their meal. Denmark looked at him with pleading eyes.

“Can I take it up?” The room went disgustingly silent. Finland opened his mouth several times, eyes moving from Denmark to Norway. Norway busied himself with cleaning up Iceland, refusing to meet anyone’s eye.

“I don’t- It’s not the right time. He- This is a- He kinda doesn’t want to see anyone.”

“Except you,” Denmark replied miserably. Finland pursed his mouth.

“You have to understand that this is not something he can just stomach right now. Your king hurt and humiliated him.” Denmark stood from the table, slapping his palms on the top and making Iceland wince.

“It wasn’t my fault! I asked him not to do this!”

“Why didn’t you tell him so he could have prepared?” His shoulders slumped, and he realized what kind of friend he had truly been.

“It was ninety people, Denmark. Ninety of his people. Slaughtered. Killed in the middle of Stockholm. He couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t do anything. This is more than a rough patch; this is a travesty. He doesn’t want to see you right now, and you’re going to have to respect that.” When Denmark didn’t reply, Finland took the plate upstairs. Norway gathered Iceland in his arms.

“He’ll come to terms with it.” Denmark shook his head.

“No. I knew it was going to happen and I said nothing. I wouldn’t be surprised if he never spoke to me again.” Norway frowned at him. He tousled Iceland’s hair and went back to his room without another word, once again shoving his face into his pillow.

* * *

 

It was weeks before Sweden had rejoined them at the table. Denmark had almost thrown up all over the table when he saw him sitting there pushing spoonfuls of porridge into his mouth. He sat without a word, eyes never leaving his friend as he attempted to shovel his breakfast into his mouth. Sweden seemed to tense.

Breakfast was enjoyed quietly, the sound of spoons tapping against bowls and the gentle slurping from Iceland keeping the room from becoming deafening. Finland was the first to leave the table. Norway followed with Iceland shortly after.

“Sve, i’m-”

“Don’t.” Denmark frowned.

“I want to apo-”

“ _Don’t._ ”

“Why can’t I?” Sweden looked at him almost dangerously, and Denmark made a conscious effort not to gulp.

“Because you don’t mean it. If you meant it, this wouldn’t have happened. You could have come to me in private to prevent this, but you went like an idiot to your boss knowing damn well it’d do nothing to help. I can hardly believe you can sit here and look me in the eyes. I can tell you feel guilty, Mikkel, but that means nothing to me. You mean nothing to me.” He stood and began to leave the room.

“If I mean nothing to you,” Denmark began bitterly, “then why don’t you just leave?” Sweden stopped, craned his neck to look at Denmark, and grit his teeth.

“You act like i’m not trying to.” He left then.

* * *

 

It was months later when his king told him he was going to war with Sweden. The raid sent to squash out the last of the rebellion proved futile. Sweden was going to receive liberation or die trying. Denmark couldn’t stomach the thought of meeting his old friend in the midst of battle, but his own selfish pride would never willingly hand him his freedom. He prepared for a fight just as his men did and hoped there’d be a true resolve at the end. Something told him there would not be.

“I don’t like the idea of you fighting with Sweden.” He looked to Iceland and offered the widest smile he could muster. Iceland’s brow furrowed in response, and Denmark sighed.

“I don’t like it either, but there’s not much I can do. Besides, it could definitely help my relationship with Sve. Don’t you like us being a family, Ice?”

“I _do_ ,” Iceland insisted, “but this isn’t how a family acts. We don’t go to war over someone wanting to be on their own, we support them and love them. That’s how a family works. You can’t control him forever just like you can’t control bror forever.” Denmark frowned, reaching over and ruffling Iceland’s hair affectionately.

“When did you get so smart, Ice?”

“I learned it from you and bror.” He watched Iceland saunter off in the direction of the kitchen, undoubtedly going to con someone into giving him sweets. A smile tugged at his lips, and he decided to call it a day on training. He’d spend the rest of the day with his family.

* * *

 

Denmark and Sweden had fought for two years. Two years of bloodshed, dying countrymen, broken spirits. It hadn’t taken Denmark more than a month to realize this was a pointless battle he was going to lose. Even when they had the upperhand, Sweden seemed to be one step ahead of them. There were too many nights he could return home, old wounds reopened, blood seeping from the gashes on his back and chest, bones aching and creaking with every movement, and Norway would try to find some way to clean him up and ease the pain. Some nights, he could hear Denmark whispering apologies to Sweden and begging him to let them be friends again.

* * *

 

“Berwald!” Sweden tensed, turning on his heel quickly to face Denmark. His jaw clenched, and he tightened his fists. Denmark dropped his weapons, turning his empty palms to the Swede to show he had no plans to attack. At this, Sweden relaxed his grip, eyes still narrowed and lips still firmly pressed together. He said nothing.

“I- We- We’re not fighting anymore. We want to draw up a treaty. This is- you- Let’s just end this, alright? Come to an agreement? You get to be independent.”

“ _Liberated_ ,” Sweden hissed, “and Finland’s coming with me. That’s not negotiable.” Denmark nodded.

“Right, liberated. And yes, I assumed Finland would go with you. I wouldn’t- I couldn’t dream of splitting the two of you up. We just ask to keep Scania and Blekinge.” He watched as Sweden also dropped his weapon and felt his body go slack with relief.

“Fine. Keep Scania and Blekinge. Just recognise that I am not a part of this union any further.”

“We- _I_ will. I’m sorry, Sve. I’m so sorry. We can sign it in Copenh-”

“No, we’ll sign it in Malmö. I’m not going back to your lands, Mikkel. Respect that.” Though he wanted nothing more than to punch Sweden right in the face for being so petty as to where they signed it, he nodded.

“Right. We’ll sign it in Malmö.” He held his hand out, and Berwald shook it.

* * *

 

When Denmark arrived home once again, he was met with small arms wrapping around his left leg and nearly knocking him into the door of his home. He laughed despite his somber heart, picking up Iceland and pulling him into a tight hug. It took several minutes for him to let go. After he sat him down, he found himself pulled into another embrace, this one much gentler than Iceland’s had been. The smile on his face stretched into a grin.

“You missed me that much, Håkon?” Norway pulled away from the hug, busying himself with the untidiness of Iceland’s hair.

“You act like I wouldn’t worry over you being away for so long. Besides, if you aren’t here, who is Ice to go to when he annoys me?” Denmark found himself laughing once again.

“I missed you too.” He made haste to settle himself and unpack his belongings to be sure he and Iceland would have ample time to play together before bed. By the time Norway had come to check on them and tell them it was bed time, Iceland was fast asleep, curled in Denmark’s lap while the latter looked close to knocking out as well. He allowed his lips to curl into a small smile, shifting closer to pick his little brother up out of Denmark’s lap. Iceland stirred in his arms but fortunately stayed asleep. Norway took him to his bed.

Denmark was tidying up the room when he returned, placing chairs and blankets back to their respectable spots and moving the gaggle of toys out of the way of the floor. Norway helped him, picking up stray items the other had missed in his dazed cleaning. He received a bright smile for his efforts, one he couldn’t help but return, the gentle flutter of a laugh in the back of his throat. Denmark’s smile turned into a grin, and he found himself held tight in his arms once again. He sighed into the fabric of his tunic, embracing his waist and relaxing as a kiss was pressed to the top of his head. Denmark was the first to remove himself from the hug, taking Norway’s hands in his and brushing his thumbs over his knuckles.

“Your brother plays rough.” Norway nodded, squeezing his fingers gently.

“Yes, he’s started to do that. He’s getting older physically. He’s becoming less aware of his strength. But you know that for once I don’t want to talk about Iceland.” Denmark chuckled, nodding his head.

“I figured you wouldn’t. It was worth a shot though. What exactly do you want to know? Who ceased fire first? Why i’m home? If we made a deal?”

“I want to know what your relationship with Berwald is going to be now,” Norway replied. Denmark’s smile fell slowly from his lips, and he let the air in his lungs out through his nose.

“We’re definitely not friends. I don’t know who decided that, but it’s true. We offered the treaty, he made his demands, we came to a compromise, and I go to Malmö soon to sign it. It’s not how I would have liked things to end, but i’m coming to terms with how this might be for the best. You and Ice are still here, Finland will be taken care of, and Sweden is doing what is best for he and his people. I know I should be angrier at him than I am, but…” His voice trailed off, and he did his best to busy his sight with something other than the other Nordic before him.

“But what, Mikkel?” Denmark grimaced.

“The words will taste like vinegar.” To his surprise, Norway laughed.

“Tell me.” He turned his gaze back to him.

“ _But_ he is my brother, no matter how I’ll ever be able to look at it. And as his older brother, I can’t help but feel a little bit of pride that he grew up and took charge of himself.” He chuckled, “You’re going to have it bad when Iceland declares independence.” Norway huffed, shoving his chest gently.

“So much for being sentimental.”

* * *

 

Returning to Sweden was bittersweet for Mikkel. He had to sign a treaty to remain peace between the kingdoms, but on the bright side, it was a chance to see Berwald again. They stood opposite each other, both their backs straight and heads held high.

Denmark was the first to sign the treaty. His signature was messy, a scribble across the line beneath his king’s. Sweden was the last to sign, signature clean and neat. They all shook hands when it was over, Denmark’s king the first to leave Malmö. Sweden’s king left to his palace, but Berwald stayed behind. Mikkel offered him a smile.

“I’m sorry it came to war.” Sweden’s voice was clipped, gentle. Denmark hardly believe it came from him.

“No. No, you shouldn’t be sorry. I’m sorry it came to war. You were ready to be your own kingdom, and we should have respected that. I’m...I’m really proud of you, Berwald.” He watched Berwald’s jaw clench and eyes harden, and he wondered what part of that statement should he not have said. Sweden cleared his throat.

“Thank you.” Denmark nodded and allowed them the silence. Sweden checked his pocket watch.

“Do you think we’ll ever mend this, Berwald?” Mikkel asked him, sheepishly. Berwald put his pocket watch away and turned his eyes back to the man opposite him. Slowly, he nodded his head.

“I think we will one day, Mikkel.” That was the only validation Denmark needed.


End file.
